Diversion
by Zoop
Summary: Fourth Age AU one-shot. An escaped slave meets his end.


_The Fourth Age – Men of the West have prospered and expanded eastward. Perhaps in Elessar's day, the trafficking of slaves was abhorred, but he is no longer king, and the influence of the Easterlings has taken a foothold. Laws against slavery remain, but they only apply to Men._

* * *

The forest was dense, but not dense enough. It was wide, but not wide enough. His feet were torn and bleeding from sharp rocks, leaving a trail he couldn't quite mask had he wanted to. He'd run out of room to run; long given up on hiding places for resting. There was no where he could go to evade his pursuers now. Before him, the promise of the north and a hope of freedom might loom, but behind him the baying of hounds was getting closer by the day.

Exhaustion brought him to his knees and he gasped for breath. His gorge rose briefly, but the emptiness of his belly thwarted a relieving vomit. _Just one more day_ , he thought, gathering his strength and listening hard. The forest was silent.

He held his breath to be certain, choking a few times as his heaving lungs demanded air. Wide-eyed and full of dread, he slowly turned. Only the trees met his eyes; he was still ahead. Sudden as a roll of thunder, however, a long howl sounded not a mile distant. Whimpering in fear, he dragged himself to his feet and limped forward, slowly regaining his earlier momentum and speed. The barking grew louder.

* * *

After tumbling head over heels down an embankment into a nearly dry riverbed, he almost couldn't rise. He dragged himself to the water and gratefully drank from the feeble trickle of water still bravely cutting through the deadfall and debris of storms long past. He staggered upstream a good distance before leaping over the sandy bank into the undergrowth on the opposite side. One glance behind reassured him he'd left no obvious sign of his passage beyond stirred up silt; perhaps it would settle before the Men reached the stream. He didn't linger to find out, and quickly changed direction to head further upstream at an angle that drew him away from the water, and deeper into the thickest part of the forest.

He could still hear them, closing in. He had to run as long as his legs could carry him.

Within hours, he'd run out of time. His legs had nothing left. The Men found him dragging himself forward blindly with a hopeless determination. The hounds swarmed him; in moments he was down. Whether they thought him able to resist or not, his limp arms were bound behind him, and a knee pressed his head into the dead leaves and dirt of the forest floor. He lost count of the blows to his ribs as they paid him well for the chase he gave them.

There was a brief debate of what to do with him: should he be dragged back in chains and given over to his master for such a pitiful reward as they were promised? Was he, in fact, worth the effort of chasing him down in the first place? Did they want to endure his stench for the return trip? After all, they'd be paid well enough whether they brought him back alive, or simply provided proof that they'd found him. Let his master seek just compensation elsewhere.

In the end, it was decided that he was not worth their trouble, and a rope was slung over a thick branch. He felt himself being lifted enough for the noose to be placed about his neck. As though detached from himself, he noted the sudden tightening of the rope, the stinging pause as one of them cut off his sharply pointed ears, the weightless feeling as his body rose up and up. He could see all around him: trees and endless trees. His weakened legs kicked ineffectually, his neck muscles bunched in defiance, yet he kept his eyes pointed north as much as he could, in spite of the spinning they set his body to for their amusement.

Northward lay freedom, but not for him. It had never been for him. Gradually his vision darkened, and he could no longer see the trees.

* * *

Miles away, his mate struggled through the underbrush along a different trail. One hand on her rounded belly, the other gripping a sapling for balance, she felt Fligur's passing and fell to her knees. A keening wail threatened to sound, but she clamped her thin lips tightly and squeezed her eyes shut against the grief. Time enough for that when she and their whelp were safe. Mâdûr took great breaths. She leaned against the tree for a moment, gathering her strength. She set her sights northward, and pulled herself back up. Very slowly, she took a step, and then another. In silence, she walked.


End file.
